


Audition

by Jae



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae/pseuds/Jae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because it ended badly doesn't mean it started badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Audition

It wasn’t an audition. They weren’t that kind of band; they didn’t audition hired guns to come in like some kind of sell-out dad-rock arena band playing reunion tours where the only original member was the lead singer. They were just asking a couple of people to come play with them, just casually, to see how it worked out, to see if maybe they could work things out, together. Mike told everybody to be really clear about that.

“It’s not anything formal,” he said for what Sisky helpfully pointed out was the eighth time. “It’s not like a test.”

William laughed.

“What?” Mike said.

“My friend,” William said, “with you, there’s nothing that’s not a test.”

“Shut up,” Mike said, and then they went to just play casually, to see how things worked out.

Butcher worked out right away, everyone could tell. He probably didn’t even need to play with them, he was the kind of guy you could tell just by looking at him that he’d always work out, with everybody. Just the way he leaned into Sisky to show him something on his phone, the way his arm opened easily over Sisky’s shoulder, you could tell he’d fit in everywhere. Even Mike couldn’t argue, not that he had to argue with everything like some people said, but even he could see it.

He was already halfway to pissed off when Tom walked in, five minutes late, wearing aviator shades inside and some kind of stupid hat. He didn’t take either of them off. “Sorry,” he said, “the fucking train,” and he tilted his head back a little to smile and the pale sunlight through the big windows caught the curls at the nape of his neck and William bent over to Mike’s ear.

“If he follows me home, Daddy, can we keep him?” William whispered, and Mike shoved him away.

“Just wait and see how he plays, all right? Maybe act like a fucking professional for once.”

“I thought this wasn’t a test,” William said innocently, and laughed when Mike shoved him again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mike said.

Of course William was right. It wasn’t a test, Mike had said that, it wasn’t a fucking audition. It wasn’t like they all didn’t know how Tom played, like they all didn’t know what he could do. Mike had heard Tom play around town, they’d all heard each other in this small-town city. There was no fucking point in making Tom try out, not that way. What he was looking for was something else.

Mike saw it right away, before he heard it. He saw it and he felt a sharp pinch, jealousy and something else, familiar as shoes he’d grown out of but refused to stop wearing. There was no fucking point in making Tom try out for him, because that was the thing about Tom. He didn’t try. When Tom played he closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and he swayed toward William like William was the sun and he couldn’t help it, Mike could tell, he didn’t even know he was doing it. When Tom played the music was there and it was right and he didn’t think about it, he didn’t try to make it right or better or anything at all. When Tom played he was lost.

One thing Mike had never believed in was all the rhetoric around getting lost in music, about getting into some transcendent state beyond thought and action where true art lay. Music wasn’t something where you got lost, or found. Music was something you made, something you carved out of a wall of sound at a hundred decibels into whatever you wanted it to be, into what you wanted to be. Mike liked to tell people that he worked with his hands, and he did, he made things, he made music. He made it, he didn’t get lost in it, and he hardly ever thought about what it would be like if it was different, if he were different. He hardly ever thought about that at all.

When they finished playing Tom said, “I’ll guess I’ll let you guys think about things, then.”

William glanced at Mike and said, “The first thing you need to learn is that it’s always a mistake to let us think about things.” He threw an arm around Tom’s shoulder and Tom smiled again, slowly, and tipped his sunglasses up on top of his head.

“Don’t get too excited,” Mike said. “It’s a job.”

“Yeah,” Tom said quietly, and Mike looked away before he said,

“We’re all going out, you coming?”

They went out to a bar where a band they all knew vaguely was playing. It was a small bar and a decent crowd so Mike ended up standing right next to Tom, his arm brushing Tom’s every time he lifted his beer. Tom stood with his arms crossed, his own beer dangling from his hand, and stared at the stage, his forehead creased. When Mike leaned in to engage in the age-old scene tradition of bitching about the band Tom just kept watching like he couldn’t even hear what Mike was saying.

When the band finished Mike said, “You liked them?”

“They got up there and did it,” Tom said, “you got to respect that.”

“Even if they suck?”

“Kind of especially if they suck.”

“I don’t respect anything about fucking up,” Mike said, a little more roughly than he’d planned.

“Nah, not that,” Tom said, “it’s just – it takes something, you know, to get up there and do what’s, I don’t know, what’s in your heart, when you know people are just waiting for you to fall down. You’ve got to be, I don’t know. You’ve got to be brave, I guess, and I can’t help respecting that, no matter what you’re brave about. I just – I don’t know, I wish people were more like that. I wish people were like that more.”

Tom was still wearing his stupid fucking sunglasses. Before he knew what he was doing Mike reached out to take them off Tom’s face. Tom caught his arm and knocked it away, then took his glasses off himself and folded them up and put them in his pocket. He looked at Mike and Mike looked back.

“C’mere,” Tom said, and turned and walked toward the back of the bar. Mike didn’t know where he was going, but he followed him.

When Tom pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder Mike hung back, but Tom just looked at him and Mike brushed past him to go inside. Tom shut the door and Mike leaned back against it. “Hey,” Tom said softly, standing so close that Mike almost put his arm up, to push him away. Instead Mike kissed him.

Tom’s eyes were closed and he swayed toward Mike until Mike grabbed him hard, both hands on Tom’s hips. Tom’s eyes were closed and his hand was on the wall by Mike’s head, his fingers spread out, long and callused against the rough wood. Tom’s eyes were closed and he hummed into Mike’s mouth, one of the songs they’d played earlier, Mike knew it , Mike had written it but he felt like he’d never heard it before. “Hey,” Tom said again, and pulled away, slipping through Mike’s hands to kneel on the dirty bathroom floor. Mike put his hand down to trace the line of Tom’s jaw and Tom froze and then leaned into it, smiling up at Mike, his eyes wide. Mike tipped his head back against the door and closed his eyes. He wanted to stop thinking but he had a mind like a metronome, William always said, relentless, relentless, and all Mike could think was the same thing, over and over again.

Afterwards Tom leaned back on one hand and grinned up at Mike. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. “One thing I’ll say about you,” he said, “you’re an appreciative audience.” He put his hand up so Mike could help pull him to his feet . Mike took his hand but didn’t pull him up.

“Listen,” he said roughly, “listen, you know – this, you didn’t have to – this wasn’t part of the fucking audition.”

Tom looked at him for a minute. “Jesus,” he said, “that’s a fucked-up thing to say.” He didn’t take his hand away.

“Just – some things need to be said, even if they aren’t so pretty,” Mike said. “Some things everybody needs to be clear on, right from the start.”

“I’m not that hard up for a job,” Tom said, and Mike looked away for a minute.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, I just – I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nah,” Tom said, pushing himself up to his feet. “It’s all right. Now I know that about you – you’re the guy who says fucked-up things when nobody else will.”

“It’s a noble calling,” Mike said, and Tom laughed.

“Sure, you tell yourself that,” Tom said, smiling. His sleeve was pushed up a little and he dragged his bare forearm across his mouth again. When he turned his head Mike could see a dark smudge across the side of his jaw.

“Jeez, we’re not even on tour yet and already you’re dirty,” Mike said. Tom craned his neck to look in the mirror over the sink.

“I don’t even know where I got that,” he said. Before he could touch it Mike reached out to wipe it away, but instead he left another dark smear on Tom’s cheek. He looked down at his fingers, covered in dust from where he’d clutched at the side of the sink. He rubbed his hand on his jeans but he’d been wearing them for two days and his fingers didn’t come away cleaner.

“It’s all right,” Tom said. He put his hand up to his cheek but instead of brushing away the dust he put his finger over it, right where Mike’s had been. “It’s all right,” he said again, catching Mike’s eye in the bathroom mirror. Mike looked back at him, then pushed away from the door and went out into the bar.

When Tom joined him at the bar Mike shoved a beer his way and glanced over at him. His face was clean, and he was wearing his sunglasses again. He swayed toward Mike again, till Mike’s shoulder against his stopped him. He didn’t say anything, but he seemed easy in the quiet.

“So listen,” Mike said, and even in the noisy bar his voice sounded too loud. “Not to get all down to business, but you remember the last song we played today? I want to know what you think – William thinks it’s done but that lazy fuck always thinks everything’s done, I think we should – “

“Oh no,” Tom said easily. He didn’t take his sunglasses off. “I’m not that fucking stupid – I’m not going to get in the middle of something like that. I know what’s good for me.”

“I doubt that,” Mike said, but Tom didn’t laugh with him. “So, what, you’re just along for the ride with us?”

“Depends where you’re going,” Tom said, and when Tom smiled at him Mike had to bite his tongue to keep from saying what he wanted to. Some things he wasn’t so brave about. Instead he laughed and said,

“Well, based on the last tour, I’d say we’ll be going to a whole bunch of shitholes, you’ll fit right in.” Tom laughed again and when he looked back down at his beer Mike closed his eyes. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling, or thinking. His mind beat with the same relentless rhythm, the same words over and over again.

This was what it felt like to be lost.


End file.
